Sea of Doubt
by Novarine
Summary: A leafeon who’s deemed himself both talentless and hopeless tries to bear living by himself in a world of only Pokemon. Only equipped with his vivid imagination, he just knows it’s going to be a very harsh ride.


**Author's Notes: Hey there, fellas. This is meant to be a teaser and also to provide a little backstory for the protagonist. And it's a ****test to see how much I've improved since my last story. Review please, but not too harsh if you'd kindly.**

* * *

Splotches of gray covering the sky, a lingering smell of charcoal in the air and constant on and off drizzles of rain. For Morrow Plains, it was another one of those morosely nondescript afternoons. The breeze blew with a frigid cold shifting what little trees dotted along the countryside, and it seemed like another day would pass without a single bit of the sun showing. For the people having to live under this horrible weather, it was a rare sight to actually see the sun out of the clouds at all— a few times during the summer if they were lucky, but usually those were the only times it would come out.

The annual rainy season was coming around, and everyone was preparing for the onslaught to come. No pokémon that went out forgot to bring their umbrella or wear their raincoat. The local stores, in a bid to make another buck, also caught onto the trend: many raincoats of different sizes and colors could be seen hanging below signs advertising sales and cheap once-in-a-lifetime deals. As with all corporation promotional bids, they also plastered what popular trends they could over them. It wasn't uncommon to see the occasional Radical Pika or Hello Litten raincoat standing out amongst the hanging racks of cheap plastic.

In the streets, small teams could be seen cutting down trees and clearing large storm drains, sometimes with scrub brushes tied around their bodies. It was very inconvenient, not to mention the obscenity of seeing a zangoose using a spinda as a gigantic brush, but they didn't seem to have any choice. It would've helped if they had the assistance of psychic powers but as always they were lacking in employed Pokémon of that type. Unsurprising, considering how depressing it was to live in this place.

On this gloomy day, the town park— which had, by a miracle, somehow survived through the climate— was by no means in any acceptable condition. It's path was riddled with puddles and the ground had been turned into a muddy wasteland, hidden by blades of moist grass sheening from the past rain.

You'd think that this would stop anyone with common sense (or at least, without the mind of a pig) from visiting, but today just happened to be a special occasion. The park had various large gazebos along it's outskirts, strategically placed along where they would capture the most beauty. Most of them were quiet, save for the gentle thumping of raindrops, but there was one that was still had some activity concealed within it.

Of course, if you counted a bunch of people sitting still as activity. The pokémon in the gazebo, clad in black clothing, were sitting solemnly on several spread out rows of chairs. The atmosphere was silent with the only sound in the room being the voice of a abra who was speaking, delivering a weak, generic sermon which had way too much filler to be comprehendible. Even the abra himself was unsure about his own prose. The audience was more or less unamused and you could see expressions everywhere that screamed "I'm bored out of my mind."

Yet they didn't dare say a single word to disturb him. They didn't want to make a scene when two caskets with lifeless bodies were right in front of them...

* * *

At the front row sat a very young-looking leafeon, his head hung low and his amber pupils staring square into the floor. In his head, his consciousness kept himself busy spacing out— well, more like having some small talk with his own mind. He did realize it wasn't the sanest habit, but he didn't care.

He saw it as the best way to pass time when nothing else would.

Coincidentally, the topic of his little discussions drifted towards his own thoughts: he pondered over how fast they could circle around his head. He imagined it as a train spinning around at the speed of light, and as if on cue his mind formed a vivid mental image of a subway station. The murky atmosphere of the underground and the screeching of the train's brakes indicated no other.

His daydream was set up like his own little playground. Eagerly playing along to the mirage, he added to his fantasy bit by bit, and eventually a line of poképassengers could be visible. Angling it like some sort of movie scene, he watched as the train rushed in, grinding to a halt and opening it's doors.

The passengers promptly walked in without fuss. They appeared fuzzy and he couldn't concentrate on their features well, which he expected since he couldn't really discern machinations from his own imagination as well as he'd hoped. But he could still tell the species of them. He made a mental note of each one, checking it off like some guest list at a wedding. A lucario, a waddling noctowl, golduck, bulbasaur, sylveon... sylveon?

His heart paced slightly, his imagination curiously focusing on the sylveon, which resulted in it becoming much more vivid than the others. Beautiful light-bluish eyes, larger eyes and a short yet puffy tail, it was too cute for him to take. He kept his mental vision on it, seeing it hop on and struggle to climb up into the compartment. Eventually after a bunch of wiggling it managed to to climb into the train door and waddle inside.

_That's so adorable... oh, what am I doing?_

He shook his head to stop his embarrassment from taking over and prevent his cheeks from turning red, but also in the process shaking and turning the mirage into a sludgy haze. No, no no no! he exclaimed, trying to dig up and mash it back into shape.

At the worst time, his weary eyes suddenly noticed a curious bit of green poking out of his shirt cuff, effectively taking any chances of recovering his mental reality and throwing it out the window. Once he realized it was just the edge of the leaf that sprouted out from his wrist, he grumbled unhappily and used his other paw to lazily shove it underneath his sleeve; but instead of sliding under, the fragile leaf crushed against the edge, inducing a sharp pang of pain and a sickly crunch.

_Aow! S-Seriously?!..._ He winced, swearing at whatever god-figure out there decided the best place to put these protruding appendages were behind his paws, and even more at whoever invented clothing. He loathed wearing these fancy coverings, yet people insisted that it was for traditions of all things. This cannot be tradition, he thought to himself, I've never seen a single place where they wear these...

His mind went blank as he came to a realization— he hadn't been paying attention, well, at all. He focused back on the real world but found nothing of interest except for a loud sermon that immediately invaded his ears as soon as he was back. Looking at the abra delivering the sermon, he saw how nervous he was, scratching his head and saying "uh" for about the twenty-seventh time. The leafeon's eyes rolled in disappointment, but at least he felt a bit of relief in knowing he didn't miss anything important.

Unsurprisingly, he couldn't be bothered to make out whatever words were in the sermon and instead found himself eyeing the venue over. The gazebo had majestically carved ornate patterns donned over the posts, which he could hardly tell was all wooden. He knew it must've taken a really long time to do since the gazebo was pretty large. It also had a garden with plenty of mesmerizing flowers. It would've been a wonderful sight if it weren't for the very large tarps everywhere that was overshadowing everything, which he figured were set up to protect against heavy rain.

Turning his head around to peer behind him, he saw many Pokémon that were sitting neatly in order. So-called relatives and close friends at the front, and the not-so-good friends at the back. His eyes dashed back and forth trying to see if he could find a familiar face, but he didn't see anyone he knew. Occasionally he'd look at someone whose face was vaguely familiar, yet he wouldn't remember them in the slightest.

He felt ashamed not knowing anyone, considering they were probably people he was supposed to recognize but didn't. His expression grew more downhearted by every minute that passed with his eyes still searching for someone he'd recognize. The lilligant behind him especially deal a blow to his morale, considering she was sitting behind him. She must've been an aunt or cousin that he'd hung around often when he was younger. Just then, the lilligant looked back at him and raised her leaf-hand thing to say hello, forcing him to reflexively divert himself forwards to avoid an awkward conversation.

A whole minute of repeated "Forgive my rudeness" to himself later, he took a deep breath and tried to put the feeling of embarrassment behind him. But now he could see the big picture— that being the two caskets that laid only a few feet away from him. He could just barely see a bit of the two bodies that were in them.

_Mommy and daddy._

He knew it was really weird to still be calling them that, but it was really how he was raised. Back when they were still alive, he thought that he wouldn't be able to face his parents when the inevitable came, that he'd be bawling his eyes out or be filled with dread or gone crazy wearing their bones like a certain pokémon would.

But here he was now, proving that all of that was wrong. He felt nothing. Not sadness, not happiness, not anger. Just a void in his chest where he expected to feel, well, anything. If he was being honest to himself, he would've admitted that the feeling was scary. He'd only had watched it in a drama or read it in a novel right before the character had an explosive mental breakdown.

_Well? Breakdown, where are you?_ Now would've been the most appropriate time to kick in, but there was only that wavering feeling of guilt. He didn't want to label himself as some sort of psychopath or anything, but was it really worth it to go all totodile tears for? Yes! These were his parents, after all. But they deserved his true feelings. They would anyway, if they were still alive. His mind soon became conflicted, arguing with himself about morality and whether he should try and fake cry or not.

And should he give them both justice? He knew his father loved him, but what about his mother? He loathed his mother, but she had a mental illness! Maybe she just acted so weirdly because she was sick, but then again, she was an asshole who kicked out his father.

"... now, a few words from the son of these two loving parents. London?"

He perked up upon hearing his name, double taking and blinking for a brief second before standing up and briskly making his way to the podium. The silence amplified his paw steps along the way, making him even more nervous than he already was. Once up on the stand, he cleared his throat and gazed over the crowd, a feeling of overwhelming pressure crushing his whole being.

"I-I wasn't prepared to see them pass away so soon..." he managed to mouth out, unsure if it sounded narcissistic or not. "I-I... uhm..."

Somehow in that scramble in searching for words to say, his mind came to life and filled his head with memories that he'd forgotten long ago. He looked straight into the audience, yet not into anyone's eyes, fearing they'd see his true nature. "They... they'd want me to move on like their death was nothing. My dad always used to say that I shouldn't let what happens to him or my mother affect my life."

He took a moment to pause. "Even though his entire body was growing weaker and thinner by the day."

At that instant, the image of his leafeon father filled his head. Every detail, from his darker eyes to his wrinkles. "He took every moment he was next to me to show how much he loved me, and every time he wasn't, he was thinking of me. Even if I was ignoring him."

"He wanted me to have a life. Get rich, get a good job, get married. And he even wanted to live to see me get famous..."

"... but in the end, I didn't even make him proud." He suddenly felt something fill the void inside himself. Guilt. The memories of his poor father having to put up with his mother just because he loved his children so much. At once the memories of when his daddy would talk to him became most prominent. "Everyone's telling me that your mommy was a skank since the start and I should've left her. But really... I couldn't stand up for myself. It's my mistake, London. Not yours. Don't let it affect your life," his words of advice echoing through his mind.

His expression turned sullen, and he looked down, unable to face his relatives. With a sigh he got off the podium and sat back in his seat. Some of the relatives came over to comfort him, saying things like "but you did make him proud, you know that," "you're a good son," "it's okay," to no avail. Everything became a blur after that moment, and he wished that he was some place else where he didn't need to matter.

He didn't utter another word that day. His eyes stared constantly at the floor, and he hoped that this day would be just like the rest, that it would just fade away from memory never to be remembered. But he knew that he wouldn't forget it, especially that one moment that would plague his mind for the rest of his life.

* * *

The funeral came and passed, and soon it was time for the burial. As the casket was rolled down the path of the cemetery, the others followed close behind in a procession entirely clothed in black, even covered by dark umbrellas. They slowed to a halt as they approached the open graves, dug deep in preparation.

For the last time, the caskets were opened to let the relatives see the deceased and say goodbye for the last time. London was up first, and looking into the casket, he saw the face of his now long lost father. His face was pale with makeup and peaceful at rest, and his eyes were closed tight, probably never to be opened again. He placed a paw upon the protective glass separating the body from the outside and mumbled "I'm sorry I couldn't live like you wanted me to, daddy."

The rain started to pour down horrendously as the caskets closed, and London watched as they were lowered into the ground, making a loud thud as it made contact with the bottom. The others went away as time passed, and only one lone leafeon stayed as dirt was slowly piled on top. By the time the graves were covered properly, he was soaked with rain. It didn't deter him one bit.

He sat infront of his father's grave, just looking at it. He was desperately trying to do something then there, like maybe gain the courage to sing, or use his magical leaf powers maybe to sprout some flowers or... raise his father out of the grave and revive him using life-giving vines— but to no avail. He just stayed still, even as his leaves were beginning to droop from how drenched they were.

In everlasting love and memory.

* * *

**A/N: Woo. Dipped a little bit toward the melodramatic end there. Hope you enjoyed.**


End file.
